


Sweater Weather

by slightly_nauseated



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, Draco Malfoy is Bad at Feelings, Eventual Smut, Fluff, M/M, Oblivious Harry, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Ugly Holiday Sweaters, a fun lil bet, maybe idk I havent decided yet, otherwise this is a good wholesome fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:15:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21563584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightly_nauseated/pseuds/slightly_nauseated
Summary: On the twenty-ninth of November, Harry sat in a pub, drunk, challenged to wear awful Christmas sweaters for the first twenty-five days of December by his friends. Naturally, Harry agrees, never one to be underestimated, and never one to make rational decisions, especially when drunk.But Christmas time is full of surprises. Of course it's Harry's luck that the cashier at the only thrift store in Diagon Alley is Draco Malfoy.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Kudos: 12





	Sweater Weather

“So,” Draco’s eyebrows furrowed and he glanced up at Harry doubtingly. “This is the jumper you’d like?”

Harry looked down to observe it again. It was ghastly; the ugliest thing Harry had ever seen. On the sleeves, tassels, which he supposed once were a cranberry color, but were now a crusty-pink, hung from the underside, and Harry imagined that wearing it would be a pain if they were constantly in between the gap where your arms were supposed to rest on your torso. In addition, the wool was worn, scratchy, and had multiple pulls everywhere the eye could reach. It was a nice, pleasureable vomit green (besides the tassles, of course), with a cross stitch of puckered lips that struck Harry as an amoeba when he first stumbled upon it, and the words, stitched in with an unskilled hand, read, “ **MERRY KISSMAS** ”.

He took a deep breath. “Yes,” he said with utmost self-hatred, “This is the one.”

Draco’s eyebrows raised and he pursed his lips, inhaling sharply through his nose. “Alright, Mr. Potter,” he bit out, “that will be two sickles, please.”

Harry hastily dug into his pocket, fishing for sickles, wishing desperately for this moment to be over. 

It was unfortunate enough he was being forced to do this for the next twenty-five days, but the fact that the only place where they had hand-me-down Christmas jumpers was this one; where one of Draco Malfoy’s many odd-jobs happened to be, majorly sucked. Generally, for the past few years, things had been civil with Harry and Draco, but Harry credits this mostly to the fact that they have had little to no interactions. Harry had decided to take a gap-year (which bled into years) after he realized in Auror training that that path wasn’t the one for him. Meanwhile, Draco struggled to find jobs at all, given his gruesome past and his family name. Harry had heard, through gossip his friends spoke of, that each of his would-be employers went to the ministry to put in a complaint about “societal threats” and that Draco was “unfit for work due to extreme bigotry and racial prejudices”. Although Harry was fully aware of his childhood, he couldn’t help but feel a little pity for Draco. Yes, he was quite the bully throughout Hogwarts, but a child will always want affection from their parental figures, and Harry imagined it was quite difficult to gain that from Lucius Malfoy. It was, in his opinion, inevitable decisions Draco made as a child. That was why he was acquitted, Harry assumed- they were all just children.

Regardless, there he was, stuffing the sweater into a brown paper bag stamped with “Mr. Mumfrey’s Magical Hand-Me-Downs” on the front. Not making eye contact, Draco handed Harry the bag, then rearranged the sickles in the cash register.

“Thank you, Mr. Potter,” he said indifferently, “Mr. Mumfrey’s Magical Hand-Me-Downs wishes you a pleasant holiday. Come again soon.”

Harry watched him contemplatively, noticing the way he bit the inside of his cheek like he was holding some comment back. “Right,” Harry scoffed, eventually. “You too, Malfoy.”

The doorbells jingled as he opened the door and stepped into the crisp air. Civilians milled about in front of him and a group of carolers crooned warmly the tune of  _ God Rest Ye, Merry Hippogriffs _ . 

Harry got the urge to look again at the waste of money in his bag and chuckled to himself when he saw the pink tassles.

Last night, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Luna, and Seamus met up at The Blind Pig for drinks and to celebrate Ron’s graduation from auror training. After a few drinks, their conversation was a joyful hum filled with laughter and drunken stupidity.

“Ron,” Luna cheered dreamily, “What a wonderful time to finish training. Christmas is just so lovely.” She rested her head on his shoulder. “I know that you begin work in two days, but still.”

Seamus’s eyebrows shot up. “Seriously, mate?” he blew a raspberry when Hermione winced and Ron sighed, nodding. “That really blows. You can’t catch a break.”

“I know,” Ron resigned, “I’m sort of jealous of Harry sometimes.”

“Well,” said Luna thoughtfully, “At least your fashion sense is a bit more tasteful. Harry is a large plaid wearer.”

Harry scorned. “What? I love my clothes! Plaid is comforting!”

“Harry,” Hermione chimed in sympathetically, “We all absolutely love you, Harry, but you do look quite like a lumberjack.”

Harry looked to Seamus and Ron for support, but they both evaded his gaze and took a considerable gulp from their mugs.

“That’s not fair!” Harry exclaimed, “You both have girlfriends to manage what you wear! I am a self-made man!”

Seamus spit out beer with incredulous laughter. “What?” he giggled. “You sound queer, mate.”

“No, I don’t!” Harry slurred. “What do you suggest, then? Shall I just change my entire personality, too? Screw you lot.”

“Don’t get mad, Harry. We are just being good friends. If I were wearing something atrocious, you would tell me, wouldn’t you?”

Harry looked down to Luna’s clanky shell necklace and battered sweater. “Er- yeah. Definitely.”

“Then you understand.” She smiled. “If you want my advice, Harry, go to Mr. Mumfrey’s magical Hand-Me-Downs, the thrift store behind the owl emporium. They have very cozy winter jumpers there.” Her eyes lit up even further. “Oh! Harry, I have an idea! You should wear a Christmas sweater every day until Christmas! Wouldn’t that be just charming?”

“Oh yeah,” Ron sniggered, “Absolutely charming. You know what?” he feigned pulling out a quill and paper. “Better write to mum and tell her to start working right away!”

Seamus chortled and Hermione hit Ron on the shoulder. “Luna, there’s no need to do that. Harry is perfectly happy with his plaid, so let’s just leave him-”

“I bet you thirty galleons Harry won’t do it,” Seamus challenged, grinning.

“Yeah?” said Ron. “I bet you sixty.”

Hermione’s voice raised above the gambling. “Boys, please-”

“What makes you say I won’t do it?” Harry charged, pointing his finger stumblingly, almost knocking over his drink in the process.

Hermione rushed to stabilize the drink, then sighed heavily.

Seamus’s eyes squinted mischievously. “You won’t be able to do it, Harry, because you’re a big wimp. You can barely shave your beard, much less change your wardrobe for the next twenty-five days.”

“You want to test that theory? I’ll do it. I’ll show you.”

Seamus jutted his chin up with dominance then held his hand out to shake. “That’s a deal, then?” 

Harry glared at Seamus, his chest puffed. “Deal,” he stated, and moved to shake his hand.

“But-!” Seamus pulled his hand away speedily, “If you lose, we will burn all of your flannel. Deal?”

Harry scoffed for the nth time that night. “There’s no need to do that, because I’m not going to lose.” He smirked cockily. “Deal.”

They spit into each other’s hands and shook. Hermione buried her face in her hands and murmured something along the lines of “drunk off their arses” and Luna and Ron cheered.

Of course, it’s not like Seamus to forget. The next morning, he called at nine in the morning, reminding Harry of their deal and of his awful hangover. Harry reluctantly agreed, because even though that decision was made in a drunken stupor and out of pride, he is a man of his word.

Once Harry got back home from his shopping spree, he hung the new jumper in his closet, happy to pack it away so that he didn’t have to look at it again until tomorrow. It seemed so lonesome with it’s array of nasty colors compared to Harry’s muted clothes.

_ Well _ , he thought,  _ one down, twenty-four more to go _ .

He’ll be happy when Christmas is over.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to @alloftheprompts on Tumblr for this fic idea; I was in the mood to write and I couldn't think of a plot lol. Anyways, thank y'all for reading! :)


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